Clever Green
by wickedlfairy17
Summary: Lily was a brilliant woman, but everyone has secrets. Lily was smart enough to prepare for every eventuality and was willing to do anything to ensure her son was safe. Even if it meant letting out a secret she took to the grave...the truth was James was not the best husband and Lily was not the most faithful wife. Sherlock never thought the title, dad suited him but Father was fine
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Seeker of Truth**

"**Sometimes people don't want to hear the truth because they don't want their illusions destroyed."****  
****―****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**~Fredric Sullivan~**

Fredric checked the house number three times before he walked up and knocked smartly on the door. The woman who answered was not what he had been expecting; she had a long face, watery blue eyes and well groomed blonde hair. In her arms was what looked like a cross between a beach ball and a baby whale. "Can I help you?" She asked snootily looking him over with narrowed eyes.

"Petunia Dursley?" Fredric asked just to be sure.

"Yes, what is this about?" She said tensing.

Fredric held out his hand and she shook it reluctantly, "I'm Fredric Sullivan, an attorney, I have some things to discuss with you…might I come in?" he said politely.

Petunia looked mildly interested and opened the door wider to allow him in. "Would you like some tea, Mr. Sullivan?" she asked as she put the beach ball into a play pen.

"If it is not too much trouble?" Fredric said as he sat down in the chair she gestured to in the living room and placed his briefcase on his lap.

Petunia came back with a tea tray a short while later along with some biscuits that looked so dry Fredric wondered if he could get away with dunking them in his tea. "Now, what's this all about?" she asked as she sat primly across from him. "Vernon is at work I'm afraid." She added as if in an afterthought.

"Oh, I'm not here to see your husband Mrs. Dursley…I'm here to see you." He said as he opened his briefcase and handed her a rather thick letter that was written on parchment…of all things. Petunia just stared at the letter in her hands, sneer in place and Fredric could see her tensing so he acted fast. "I was hired by your sister to give you that, once you have read it I am to give you some funds she has left you and other things as well." He left off mysteriously.

At the word 'funds' Petunia relaxed a little and opened the letter with stiff hands. It was a rather long letter, five pages long and Fredric had to resist the urge to try to take a peek at the contents. Watching the array of emotions play across Petunia's face told him that it was an interesting letter…not that he expected any less because he knew where it came from. Lily Potter was certainly a very interesting woman…or at least she had been.

When Petunia was finished he handed her a thousand pounds and a thick manila envelope. "I was advised to tell you that you shouldn't try to open that package, and that once you complete the assigned task (and I get confirmation of course) I am to give you another thousand pounds." Fredric said smiling politely.

Petunia's lips were rather pinched but she nodded her agreement anyways. "One last thing," Fredric said handing her a slip of paper with a hastily scribbled address, "this is where you'll find him." Fredric closed his briefcase with a smart snap and got up showing himself to the door. Before he left though he paused, "Oh, and Mrs. Dursley…good luck…he is not the…easiest man to get along with." He said then left whistling a jaunting tune.

**~Petunia~ **

Once Mr. Sullivan left Petunia allowed herself to slump back into her chair staring at the open letter in her hand. She sneered as she did so and smirked…it seems her sister was not as perfect as she would have had the world to believe. It was very satisfying to know that even her perfect baby sister, with her perfect life, wasn't so perfect after all. Petunia decided to read the letter one more time…to help settle all the information into her mind.

_Dearest Sister, _

_I know we have had our differences but if you are reading this letter…I have been killed and you are in possession of my little boy. I won't delude myself…I know you don't favor me and you will likely be a bit bitter about looking after my son. However, I am writing this letter to insure that you will not have to look after him a moment longer than is absolutely necessary. There is something I must admit to you that I never had the courage during my life to admit to anyone…James is not Harry's father. _

Lily had gone on to tell her who the father was and what she wanted Petunia to do with the information. There was also a part in there that made Petunia pause…it made her confused about what she was feeling.

_I know we have had our differences, I know I should have handled some things better…but I want you to know Petunia…I __**never**__ stopped loving you. No matter what you are my sister…and I regret we never reconciled while I was still alive. I want you to know I'll be looking out for you and will be waiting for you on the other side. Hopefully you won't join me until you are old and grey. I hope your life is happy and brings you peace dear sister. _

Petunia felt a lump in her throat and pushed it down ruthlessly. She did not have time for such things, Vernon would be home soon and dinner needed to be prepared. A babysitter had to be arranged for tomorrow, and Dudley needed her attention. This would have to wait until tomorrow…she couldn't possibly slip away today and do it. Yes, tomorrow, and hopefully by the end of the day tomorrow her little sister's terror will be gone from their house.

**~Sherlock~**

When Sherlock answered the door he was mildly surprised by what he found, an older woman with a child in her arms and a sneer on her face. A quick glance told him all he needed to know, over weight husband and son, middle class housewife that was prone to fits of jealously and liked spying on her neighbors. Not satisfied with her marriage but content enough with her arrangement believing it to be the best she was able to get for herself.

The child in her arms had his nose, cheekbones, hair, and his ear lopes…most importantly he had a very familiar set of green eyes. As this woman was not Lily Potter but had the same widow's peak…obviously a sister. "Give me the envelope," Sherlock said hand out. The woman looked startled but handed him a thick manila envelope nonetheless. Inside was a thick pile of documents, a mostly blank birth certificate and a letter addressed to him.

He placed it all back into the manila envelope and then took his time to really look at the boy in the woman's arms. He was quite pleased by what he found, the boy was looking at him with a familiar expression of intensity that he had previously only seen in the mirror and was obviously intelligent. "A moment, if you would," Sherlock said leaving her standing in the hall before she could say no and went to his room. He pried up the loose floorboards and pocketed the money there before heading back to her.

Sherlock divided the money in half and handed her the thick stack of pounds before speaking again. "I am unprepared to handle a child at the moment, come back in a week's time, the boy is to be as healthy and as well cared for as you can manage. If he is to my satisfaction then I will give you the rest of these pounds…if he is not madam…well…I'll leave it to your meager imagination and simply say whatever horrid scenario you dream up…will not even come close." He said in cool tones. The woman pinched her lips in displeasure and nodded.

"One more thing," Sherlock said grabbing a jar of ointment…it was a special compound…of his own creation of course…. He held it out to her and she took it reluctantly, "I expect you to use that cream on the cut on his forehead every six hours. I'll know if you don't. Now if that is all I have some pressing business that I must attend to…I trust you can see yourself out?" He said bitingly. She sneered at him and nodded sniffing as she left.

Sherlock closed the door once she was gone and then slumped onto the couch pressing his hands together in thought. Well, this was certainly…unexpected. Lily Potter had not been someone he thought would enter his life again and now it seemed that their past together had more consequences than he had expected. He opened the manila envelope and took out the letter that had his name written in a familiar hand.

_Sherlock, _

_It is more difficult than I had expected writing this letter, but I must. I know you probably never wanted to hear from me again…not with how I ended things but I have to tell you…you have a son. You have a son and you're my last hope that he will be raised with loving family. I never told James about that month, he is under the assumption that Harry was born a bit early, and I had hoped I could let the whole world believe that as well. However, if you're reading this…it means I am dead and my husband is likely as well. I know it was wrong of me to keep your son from you but after everything I didn't want to place this on you. James was so happy to be a father I hadn't the heart to tell him the truth and I was afraid of what could happen if I told you. _

_We named him Harry James Potter, but as I am sure you have deduced my sort aren't ones for any official documentation. What this means is that, should you decide to keep him, you can name him whatever you like. I have provided all the documentation you will need, birth certificates, custody paperwork, a medical record, all you need to do is fill out the names and sign. Hopefully this will save you some trouble and some valuable time. _

_Our son has so much of you Sherlock; he is so smart, started talking by eight months and was running around by nine. He knows his numbers, can recognize some written words and was quite happy to be potty trained. He was quite indignant about diapers; it was rather funny seeing your pout on him when it was time for a change. He loves learning, and when I read to him. He likes vegetables but it is rather hard convincing him to eat sometimes. A very picky eater, I'm afraid. _

Sherlock saw a smear in the ink; obviously Lily had cried a bit while writing this and had to stop for a while. It was an inconvenience writing with a quill and ink…it smeared too easily.

_I can't tell you any more about my sort than you had already deduced from our time together, there are laws you see, and I can't enlighten you now anymore than I did then. However, I will tell you that should you deduce anything on your own to be very careful on whom you speak to about it…they don't take kindly to being discovered and I would hate it if they messed with that massive brain of yours. Be careful Sherlock, the people who killed me are very likely to come after you as well if they discover our son in your care. Please protect him, and look after yourself. _

Sherlock read the rest of the letter quickly and put it aside afterwards. He leaned back into the couch and for the first time in over two years thought of Lily Potter. They had met quite by accident in the underground, she had been such a puzzle and he had less tack than normal being on a nice high. She had surprised him; she hadn't been offended by his deductions and had giggled at him. Not like how most women giggle at him either since she had been…at that time…very faithful to her husband.

They had lunch, had a heated debate over whether or not 'time-travel' (of all things) could be theoretically achievable and for the first time in a long time Sherlock hadn't been bored. Lily had been a fascinating bundle of contradiction, from a low income upbringing but married well. However, she had refused to utilize her new husband's finances and had _**not**_ married him for his money. She wore well cared for clothes but he could tell she hadn't worn that particular set in a long time.

She wrote using _quills_, used odd slang words and was obviously hiding something. However, Sherlock had known about that 'hidden' society for a while. (Honestly, who did they think they were kidding? They left enough evidence a blind idiot should have been able to figure it out.) That hadn't been what was interesting about Lily…no she was interesting in _spite_ of her ties to that group of inbred cultists. They had exchanged addresses and had kept in touch through the mail.

That had been interesting for a while, traditional mail was so dreadfully slow Sherlock hardly ever bothered with it but writing Lily had been different. She debated, he logically deduced, and they enjoyed the exercise. Lily had even taken to writing in code and seeing how long it took him to deduce the answers. An enjoyable pastime. Then one day Lily had shown up at his door in tears and of course she hadn't needed to say a word.

He had deduced that she and her husband had been fighting from her letters…though she never outright said. Getting an armful a crying woman had been uncomfortable but he had managed. She had stayed with him for three days before anything…untoward happened. In spite of what many people believed Sherlock knew the intricacies of intercourse and he simply didn't indulge in it as often as most. Lily had been the one who had come to him in the night, seeking comfort of the physical sort and Sherlock was not against the idea.

Living with Lily had been an interesting experience, she cleaned up after him, commented on the experiments he was conducting and often forced him to eat when she cooked meals. Lily smiled when he deduced, congratulated him on a job well done and was surprisingly pleasant to be around. Then at night she would come to him seeking comfort from his arms. Sherlock had never had a person be so…nice…indulgent perhaps…accommodating…gentle to him. This had gone on for two weeks before the owls came with letters tied to their legs. Lily tried to hide them from him but it was a futile effort.

Lily's husband _James_, a brutish man with more brawn than intellect was a bully, a pampered son of a wealthy family that had few social graces and a loutish disposition. He was _beneath_ Lily in every way and didn't deserve her affection. The man had been callous to her needs, careless with his words the man often hurt her without any intention to do so…and yet he did. The lackadaisical way he handled Lily had belittled and degraded the strong woman. The worst part was that the man was too idiotic and set in his outdated ways that he had _no idea_ that he was even hurting her most of the time.

Sherlock had read his letters when Lily had slept and had deduced much from them. He didn't like what he saw. James was a pampered bully that had only managed to trap Lily into a marriage because he had used her vulnerability in a weak moment to entice Lily's sentiment. He had charmed, cajoled, and tricked Lily into thinking herself enamored with him. He proposed with an extravagant ring, offered Lily everything she had never had growing up…a life of security…and Lily, since she thought herself in love, had accepted.

Perhaps she had fallen to the sentiment most women had over marriage, that fabled ever after, but Sherlock had never asked her true reasons for marrying James. The fact remained that Lily had married a man she had reviled most of her childhood and eventually came to realize she did not love him. However, Lily was a woman of high moral standards and a very stubborn disposition. Lily had not intended to start an affair with him and the guilt for it was eating at her. Sherlock had known before she did that Lily was going to leave him and return to her strained marriage.

He could tell from the nervous fiddling of her wedding ring that she only took off at night when they were intimate, from the quiet forlorn stares out the window and the tensing of her shoulders as another owl came to peck at the windows. James had never known about him and their correspondences during the months before she had shown up at his door. Lily had made her excuses for not telling him, he would be needlessly jealous, he was overly possessive, and she didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

The truth was that Lily found James as dull as Sherlock did most people. James couldn't hope to come close to Lily's intellect and she couldn't have meaningful conversation with her husband since he had not the mental power to grasp anything she said. Sherlock had been smug to know that Lily was challenged by him, that she came to him for his mind and not his appearance (as most females tend to do). Lily had tried to sneak away in the night but Sherlock had found her out easily enough.

Their parting was not a pleasant one; his words were more biting and targeted to hurt her as she had hurt him. Her words were cold and unfeeling…a stark contrast to her normally warm temperament. Lily had given as well as she got and then she had gone. Just like that the world he had grown used to was ripped from him…no one smiled and said welcome home. He had lost himself to the nirvana of the high after that and he had yet to crawl his way out of the pit of addiction.

_I know it means so little now, but I am sorry Sherlock. I…I was frightened and thought I had to give my marriage the chance to be what it was in the beginning. However, James as much as I loved him I was no longer __**in**__ love with him…not after knowing you. Sherlock, I do love you and I hope that one day you will forgive me for leaving. If I had stayed maybe I would be alive now, you could have seen as our baby had grown inside of me and had held my hand during his birth. Perhaps our son would have been even further along than he is now and have more of you mannerisms. I am sorry I never gave us that chance Sherlock, but know…that with all of my heart that I wished I had. I wish I had been brave enough to leave James, leave all this behind, and had been strong enough to stay where I truly wanted to be…at your side. _

_I know you are not one for sentiment or useless pondering…I just wanted you to know I thought of you often. You drove me to distraction and the 'what-if's haunted me. James was a good dad, he loved our son…but Sherlock I am sure with every ounce of my being that you will be a great father. I wish I had lived to see our son grow into a man…it's up to you now. _

Sherlock put the letter aside, reading it was driving him to distraction and he needed to **think**. He was an addict, Sherlock did not shrink from that title, and now he had to get clean. Fast. He had a child to look after and he could not do that awash with drugs. It would hurt detoxing his body without any assistance but it had to be done. He had a week to get clean and recover enough to manage a child. A challenge but Sherlock loved challenges.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Conquered Thoughts **

"**When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago."****  
****―****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**~Sherlock~**

There was a veritable pharmacy spread out on the floor beside him and Sherlock supposed that had he been a poetic man this might have been ironic. He was a man of science, a man of practicality, and right now he needed to get over withdrawal symptoms as quickly as possible. Sherlock picked up the first bottle, naproxen, for the aches and swallowed it quickly. He popped open another bottle, loperamide hydrochloride, to settle his digestive tracks and keep him from dehydrating.

He picked up another, clonidine, and swallowed it down. His mind was supplying him with an endless stream of information, clonidine a non-opiate, non-addictive blood pressure medication. It will inhibit his body's sympathetic response and help decrease the sweating, chills, irrational anxiety and restlessness. He hadn't had a hit in three days, Lily's sister had shown up at his door two days ago, and he was well into his detox cycle already.

Sherlock had done this before, of course, in the name of science. He had gotten it down to an art, ridding his body of the drugs and recovering within a week. Still, it was unpleasant and even more so since Mycroft had taken to texting him every thirty minutes. His phone chimed again and Sherlock didn't even bother checking it know it was his meddling older brother. Mycroft had never given him a moments peace growing up, it was always 'you cannot eat that substance', or 'no experimenting at the dinner table'.

Mycroft never gave him a moment's peace with his incessant worrying and molly coddling. It was beyond frustrating now that Mycroft had managed to build his partial web within the government. Sherlock knew Mycroft was still a ways away from his ultimate goal of becoming the British government but he was well on his way. Sherlock estimated that his dreary older brother would probably have it all under his power within the next three years or so…if there wasn't any unforeseen incidents. He was sure that as soon as Mycroft had the government under his full control he would be even more insufferable than he was now and that was saying something.

_What are you doing?-MH_

_Leave me alone.-SH_

_You haven't left your flat in three days.-MH_

_Mind your own business.-SH_

_Have you at least eaten?-MH_

_What part of leave me alone do you not understand?-SH_

_I'm having food delivered.-MH_

_What makes you think I'll answer the door?-SH_

_Eat. I'll leave you be for the rest of the day if you do.-MH_

_Fine.-SH_

The soup came and Sherlock managed to force himself to drink most of it even though he rather not. Sherlock knew that if he didn't it would just give Mycroft the excuse he needed to barge in and be a nuisance. Mycroft knew about Lily…at least knew _of_ Lily…but he had never been able to find much on her much to Mycroft's annoyance. Lily was great at covering her tracks and there was no record of her out there that she didn't purposely put out there with careful crafting.

Mycroft didn't know about his son though, because Sherlock knew that if Mycroft had any suspicions about an illegitimate child that he would have swooped in on him long ago. Mycroft loved to be in _control_ of things and it unsettled that Sherlock refused to be controlled. If Mycroft had known of the boy he would have taken him from that woman already and would have assumed custody of the boy before Sherlock ever knew he existed. No, Mycroft didn't know about the boy and Sherlock meant to keep it that way as long as possible.

Sherlock knew that if Mycroft found him out before everything was firmly in place that the man would take the boy from him. Probably say some rubbish about him not being able to take responsibility over a child. It was the same thing that had happened when mummy had gotten him that puppy, Mycroft had taken it within a week of Sherlock having it saying some rubbish about him not taking proper care of it. That was just Mycroft's way and Sherlock didn't want that to happen with _his son_ as well.

The couch groaned as Sherlock stretched out on it melting into the cushions trying to ease some of the pain he was feeling. Sherlock began looking for a distraction and picked up his compilation of Shakespeare's works. He was easily distracted from that as Sherlock caught sight of the glaring blank space on the birth certificate glared up at him from the coffee table. The boy needed a name, and a good one. Lily had named the boy Harry but Sherlock found that name dreadfully dull.

Hamlet would be better; however Sherlock was reluctant to take the name Harry away from him completely since Lily had named him. Sherlock didn't have much left of Lily so he wanted some way to make sure she left a mark on the son they made together. Perhaps an anagram was in order. Hamlet…Amadeus…Ramsey…Roderick…Ylli (Albanian meant 'star' but also was an anagram for lily) and of course H.a.r.r.y. would be a Holmes. Then, just so he could make his mark on his son, Sherlock gave him one last name, Sherrinford, it was quite a long name Hamlet Amadeus Ramsey Roderick Ylli Sherrinford Holmes but Sherlock liked it.

Sherlock sat up and took his fountain pen and wrote in Harry's new name in elegant calligraphy. It was an added bonus that giving his son so many names would allow him to call him whatever name he felt like day by day and thus avoid boredom. A feverish chill racked his body and Sherlock curled into the couch with a groan, even with the medicine withdrawal was not easy.

**~Petunia~**

Petunia led a fairly simple life; she took care of her husband and darling son. She was sociable with other mothers that had children around Dudley's age and strove to be well respected if not liked. Petunia's life was simple, her life was normal, but she had a secret…a very unusual secret that she was so afraid someone would find out. The secret that her little sister was not normal, that she was a witch, and that Petunia had the same blood running in her veins.

That secret was gone now but it just got replaced by more…a little boy…her nephew. Now she had the shame of knowing and hiding the fact that her sister was an adulterer on her hands. Her perfect little sister had strayed from her perfect marriage to a rich and handsome man for a man who was obviously disturbed. It didn't make sense, at least not to Petunia, who would have devoted herself to her well off marriage had she been as lucky as Lily in her looks.

The boy was a terror all his own, he was just…creepy…there was something off about him. Lily had at least been somewhat normal as a child and had not shown many signs of her freakishness until that dreadful letter had come. Her son though…her son was a different story…he didn't talk but there was something about the look in his eyes that told her that he perceived far too much for a boy his age. He was a terror to feed, staring at his food like it was beneath him and only eating things that were steamed. He would eat steamed broccoli, carrots, and small pieces of delicate meat. However, every time she tried to feed him any of the things she fed to Dudley he would refused to open his mouth or sometimes he would go so far as to _throw_ the food at the walls.

He was quiet at least, and he was easily handled as long as it wasn't meal time. Disturbingly enough Petunia had found him flipping through some of Dudley's story books as if he actually understood them! One time she had even found him mumbling under his breath as his tiny finger traced the words on a page…it was disquieting to see. Petunia wasn't so sure what she thought about her ill conceived nephew but she tried her best to ignore his oddities. It made things easier to pretend the boy was simply a doll she was taking care of like she had done as a girl with her dolls.

The boy was handsome and still enough to be mistaken for a doll sometimes. Vernon kept his distance from the boy, content to ignore him since the boy had brought with him an unexpected windfall of funds. Petunia wished she could ignore him as well but she was in charge of the boy's well being until the end of the week. That man had been clear and something told Petunia that if she shirked on her duties the man would know. A timer went off and Petunia sighed getting the ointment out and settling the boy on her lap, he stared at her with his unsettling eyes as she wiped more ointment over his forehead.

The angry red gash on the boy's forehead was only a small pink line now and Petunia thought that if it kept healing this well soon you wouldn't even be able to see that. She put the boy in a playpen with some books and headed to the kitchen to make some lunch for them all. Soon the boy would be gone and they would no longer have to deal with this mess. However, there was an idea pressing down on her that she had not been able to let go of yet…who else from _that_ world knew where they lived? Perhaps it was time to consider moving somewhere else, because Petunia didn't like the idea of being disturbed by that world again.

Perhaps Manchester? Then again maybe moving abroad and changing their names would ensure that these freakish things would never darken their door again. Yes, Petunia nodded, perhaps she would bring it up to Vernon at dinner tonight and see what they would need to do to get their affairs in order. As she steamed some broccoli for the boy Petunia thought with some hope that soon she would never have to see that boy again.

**~Sherlock~**

There were three days left before that woman returned with his son and Sherlock wasn't sure what to do with himself. He was going mad laying about his flat but his body wasn't up to leaving without the threat of collapse. For now he was trapped here with nothing but his thoughts for company…thoughts that he had conquered long ago. He thought of Lily, of how different it all could have been had she had only chosen him over duty and propriety.

Sherlock hadn't having to put up with normal social interactions for this very reason…all it did was hurt people. People couldn't be honest because it was rude…how idiotic. If Lily had been a bit more honest with herself or her friends had been an honest with her when she expressed her desire for that half wit…well it was no use thinking about it now. All that remained of Lily was locked in the genetic code of their son and his memories of their time together.

Just as his thoughts began to pull him down into the depths of despair there was a knock at Sherlock's door. He managed to drag himself up to answer it with some difficulty and then blinked a bit at the man standing in his doorway. Expensive suit, but it was well worn. The cufflinks were old, heirloom then, ink spot on the palm, works with paper, scuffed shoes showed he was on his feet a lot, creases in his slacks, a lot of standing and sitting. Briefcase held close to his side, something valuable inside it then, a medium sized trunk at his feet, obviously from a woman, not someone close to this man, so a client then, and all this told him everything he needed to know within two seconds of viewing.

"What more could Lily have for me and why didn't you contact me sooner? Not that I expect much intelligence from a lawyer but still I find myself disappointed." Sherlock said snarkily as he leaned against his door for support.

"Fredrick Sullivan, Mr. Holmes," the lawyer said hand outstretched in greeting. Sherlock stared at it blankly before Sullivan finally pulled his hand back smiling uneasily. "I do apologize for the delay but I was under specific instructions from Mrs. Potter to come exactly four days after you had come in contact with your son." He said as he opened his briefcase handing Sherlock a thick envelop. "This letter and the trunk are for you from Mrs. Potter's estate. Here is my business card should anything else come up and feel free to contact me if you find yourself in need of legal counsel." He said as he handed him the card nodded politely before he left Sherlock there standing with an envelope and a trunk.

Sherlock blinked, grasped one end of the trunk and dragged it into this flat. It was at least twenty percent lighter than it should have been considering its mass, and the density of the woods. It was just another sign it had come from Lily. He collapsed onto the couch and opened the envelope wondering what more the woman wanted from him from beyond the grave. Inside was a letter addressed to their son and a key to the trunk in front of him. He opened the trunk and saw even more evidence that this trunk was from Lily.

Laid on top was a short note, _Sherlock- here are some things for our son and a few books for you. Thank you for this Sherlock._ Underneath the note was a stack of books that looked well worn and had several notes on the side columns. They were child care books with what looked specific instructions inside aimed at him from Lily and refused to acknowledge the wave of relief he felt upon seeing them. Sherlock knew he was a brilliant man but he had his reservations about how well he would be able to raise a child. Now that he had reference material he felt a little more secure in the thought of handling the little creature.

**~Petunia~**

She was glad to finally be rid of the boy when the day came, because being around him was disconcerting. Petunia approached the door with sure steps and not a thought of handing the boy over to a virtual stranger. She knocked at his door and waited. When he opened the door he looked like death warmed over and he threw the money at her like she was some cheap whore before he took the boy awkwardly into his arms. For a moment they stared at one another and in that moment looking at the ragged rude man Petunia had her first moment of hesitation.

Some part of Petunia Dursley that was buried under bitterness and wounded pride was a sister who had loved her sibling very much. Before magic had come into the picture, before she had let her bitterness warp into dislike and fester into hate. Before all that had happened Petunia had loved her sister dearly and had wanted to protect her as any older sibling did. In that rough man's arms was the last living piece of her sister in the entire world and so Petunia hesitated.

Petunia wasn't sure how she was supposed to proceed, for as much as that all but forgotten part of her railed against leaving the boy long years of bitterness kept her from wanting to take the boy into her own care. So there she stood, staring into the eyes of a stranger wondering what in the world had happened to her to make her feel this need to protect this boy. There was nothing she could do for this boy, and that was what settled the matter for her in her mind.

"I'm going to disappear, I would appreciate it if any contact between the two of us remained non-existent," Petunia said coolly. The man blinked at her and then said, "How droll," closing the door in her face. Petunia took that as a yes and nodded to the closed door. However, she paused as she moved to walk away from this forever…from the last of her sister forever and reached daintily into her purse with shaking hands. Petunia opened a hidden pocket inside her purse that was tucked out of sight from any who would look for it. She picked up an old worn picture with an unsteady hand and stared at it one last time.

It was of two girls, they smiled up at the camera wrapped up in a tight hug and Petunia felt an overwhelming wave of sadness looking at them. The small red head smiled gap toothed and for a moment Petunia wondered how different it might have been had they had more time. Then she knelt and slid the picture under the door. Petunia stood up, straightened her clothes and hardened her heart walking away without one glance back. Sometimes, it was too late to apologize and all there was left to do is walk away from it leaving the past where it belonged…in the past.

**~Sherlock~**

Sherlock sat on the couch with his son in his lap and stared at him as the boy stared right back. There was a rustle by the door as something slid under the door, a picture no doubt, and he ignored it in favor of continuing his staring contest. "You are perhaps the oddest baby, according to my books you should have started crying by now," Sherlock started conversationally. Hamlet stared at him and tilted his head a bit to the side.

"That reminds me, your new names are Hamlet Amadeus Ramsey Roderick Ylli Sherrinford Holmes." Sherlock said as he flopped down to lay on the couch while maintaining eye contact. "You shall call me father." Sherlock continued as they stared at one another. Hamlet nodded his head ever so slightly and Sherlock smirked, "I knew you would be intelligent, how could you not be with me as your father?" Sherlock asked rhetorically. "The books had clear instructions, are you hungry?" Sherlock asked. Hamlet seemed to consider it before he shook his little head negatively and Sherlock nodded, "Well I shall feed you within the hour anyway, the instructions were clear, and she put the feed schedule in bold."

"Is mommy gone?" said a small voice making Sherlock blink in surprise losing their contest.

Sherlock hesitated, he wasn't the best when it came to sentiment and so he was as brutally honest as always, "I'm afraid so, no one comes back from death as far as I am aware." Hamlet's face crumpled a little and for a terrifying moment Sherlock though he might cry before his face settled back down.

"I will miss her," Hamlet said simply before settling down onto his side to look at Sherlock.

"I suppose I shall have to warn you now that I am probably not the best choice for raising a child, I am likely to make a lot of mistakes," Sherlock said as he raised a hesitant hand to settle on Hamlet's soft mop of hair. Hamlet stared at him for a moment before he sighed, "That's alright," he scooted closer to Sherlock, "You're doing well enough so far."

**A.N. And so it begins! Gahhh I am so frustrated I just recently moved and have been trying to get internet up for the last three weeks! XP Hasn't happened so far b/c of some BS with the internet company but it should all be fixed sometime in june which will allow me to start updating some fics! Lol Pray to the internet gods for me! lol**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3- Terrible Depth**

"**There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth."****  
****―****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**~Sherlock~**

Sherlock had never really considered having a family, the concept seemed dreadfully dull and he had not wanted to be trapped in a marriage to someone he would tire of. However, he found that having Hamlet in his life was actually quite entertaining. The books said that his development was much more advanced than a normal child and Sherlock was very thankful for that. If he had to deal with a screaming bumbling idiot of a child he was quite sure he would do some damage to the child mentally and emotionally.

He was not a man known for his patience and Sherlock knew himself well enough to admit that he was endlessly grateful that he would not have to deal with dull normalcy from his infant. Hamlet was a quiet child, easy to entertain and easy to handle. Still after only a few days together the apartment was beginning to feel cramped and the boredom with his surroundings was kicking in. So today Sherlock was going out, and that meant Hamlet was coming with him.

However this lead to an unforeseen problem as Hamlet was a small child it would be unrealistic to think he would be able to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. So that meant Sherlock would have to carry him but this left him with limited ability to do anything with his hands which was unacceptable. The problem was solved when he was plundering through the things Lily had given him looking for the solution. He had come across a very useful device that would strap Sherrinford to his chest leaving his arms free. It would have been perfect if not for Amadeus' refusal to get into the damn thing.

"Come now Ramsey, surely it is not as undignified as you perceive it to be?" Sherlock said in low tones. Hamlet looked up at him with a very familiar pout and popped the collar of his coat up as he mimicked Sherlock's stubborn stance unconsciously. "You have not had to ride in one!" Hamlet said in a low whine. Sherlock looked at the device speculatively and then back to his son. "Perhaps a bribe is in order?" Sherlock said with a raised brow. Sherlock knew his brother Mycroft often resorted to bribes when they had been younger and he had wanted Sherlock to do something unpleasant (like put clothes on when company was in the manor).

Roderick looked curious enough that Sherlock felt that was the right direction to go. "Alright, how's this, you get in the device for the day and tonight I shall let you choose the experiment we perform on that jar of eye balls I have been saving?" Sherlock bargained. Harry took a moment to think it over, "You'll let me use the microscope?" Ylli challenged. Sherlock sighed grievously, "Alright but I get to make the adjustments!" Hamlet nodded very seriously then with a grim expression Sherlock usually wore only during the most serious of occasions little Hamlet allowed himself to be placed into the device.

Then Sherlock following the instructions in the books tugged an emerald green bobble hat onto his son's head as well as matching emerald mittens, a cashmere emerald green scarf and thick socks along with black fir lined boots. It was winter after all and it was very cold out this time of year with intermittent snowfall. In the end Hamlet looked quite adorable his face half covered in a scarf and pouting while strapped to Sherlock's chest. Sherlock picked up his London map and headed out the door.

"I thought we could see to educating you on the layout of London, I am told it can be quite challenging for some people but I confess I have little understanding of what goes on in most people's dull little minds. I am sure you will pick it up as easily as I did Hamlet." Sherlock said as he unfolded the map for Harry to pursue. They spent a while with Sherlock quizzing Harry on the various streets and challenging him to discover the best routes to various places.

After a while they somehow ended up in a café on the other side of town with Sherlock sitting sipping tea with Harry still quite firmly strapped to his chest. "Shall we play a game Sherrinford?" Sherlock asked as Hamlet nibbled on his scone. "I shall pick someone in the crowd, tell you what I see and why. Then I shall pick another for you, and you will tell me their occupation as well as how you came to your conclusions." Sherlock said as his keen eyes scanned the crowded café. "Alright," Harry agreed.

"There the man in the corner, he is a teacher," Sherlock murmured, "he has chalk on his coat sleeve, from a school district with low funding then, still using out of date chalkboards. He has an ink stain on his shirt, by his belt, smudged as if from a small finger, primary school teacher then. He has a small dog and two cats. There is animal hair on his trousers; the height suggests a small to medium sized dog. However there is also animal hair on his coat shoulders, more animals then, not from the dog they are not prone to going that high and the colors are wrong. Two cats then, one orange, another gray, he has shaving cream behind his ear. Evidence of this happening before, no one has been telling him, so he lives alone." Sherlock summed it up and looked at his son expectantly.

Harry smiled and clapped lightly, "Bravo!" Sherlock smiled smugly and said, "Your turn, the woman at the register, what is her profession?" Hamlet turned his bright green eyes on the woman and for a while he didn't say anything. "A reporter," he said tentatively. Sherlock smiled, "Good, now why?" he asked eyebrow arched. "She is wearing all purple, her hands are soft, her hair is done, and she has a press pass in the pocket of her purse." Harry listed.

Sherlock smiled and for a while they enjoyed a game of telling the life stories of the people around them. Sherlock was the unquestionable master at it, however, as they went along Hamlet picked up more and more. Their fun came to an abrupt end when Sherlock spotted a most unwelcome visitor. He strode into the café, his face a picture of superiority as he swung his umbrella about like it was a scepter and he a king. As the gentleman sat down and ordered a tea from the waitress Sherlock hissed out a cold greeting, "Mycroft."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow at him, "Sherlock, I was unaware you had started a nanny business. Pray tell, who was the woman fool enough to trust you with their child for more than a moment?" he said scathingly. Sherlock smirked at him, "Hamlet, meet Mycroft, Mycroft say hello to your nephew." If he was being honest with himself Sherlock was certain he would remember the flash of shock and the stunned look on Mycroft's face as one of his fondest memories. Mycroft was just as brilliant as any Holmes, however, he still fell into the pitfalls most siblings do.

Sherlock was certain Mycroft was under the impression Sherlock was a virgin and as uninterested in sex as he was normal social niceties that are involved in convincing a partner to bed. However, that was the furthest thing from the truth as evidenced by Sherrinford's existence. Sherlock was not oblivious to the enjoyment carnal pleasures could bring, he was just very picky on his partners and his standards were very high. Male or Female, it didn't matter much to Sherlock you got to the end easy enough with both. No what mattered to Sherlock was the mind, and a little mystery about them helped too.

So far there had only been three people who have had the pleasure of Sherlock's company, two women and one man. Lily was one, and she had been the last in a very long while and Sherlock expected he wouldn't find another partner anytime soon now that he had Amadeus to worry about. "And what is this newest Holmes' name?" Mycroft asked challengingly. "Hamlet Amadeus Ramsey Roderick Ylli Sherrinford Holmes, I also call him Harry." Sherlock quipped. Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh, "Where is the boy's mother? I would hope she would know better than to leave you with the child for long?"

Sherlock scowled at him, "Lily has died, Harry is mine now," he said tightening his arms around the silent toddler even though he was still firmly strapped to his chest. Mycroft looked genuinely alarmed for a moment, "You know mummy is going to be very upset with you when she hears about this. You always seem to manage to upset her so." Sherlock glared, "It wasn't I who upset her Mycroft! You were the one the managed to set fire to her curtains!" Mycroft scowled at him and Sherlock counted it as a victory that he had managed to get the poker faced bastard to show so many emotions.

"What do you plan to do with him?" Mycroft asked with a calculating gleam entering his eyes. "Obviously, he cannot remain in your care; you can barely take care of yourself let alone a small child. Shall I set an appointment with mummy and have her take over rearing him for you?" Mycroft said. Sherlock hated how he made it all sound as if it was a given fact that Harry couldn't possibly be raised by him, _his father_. "In case it has escaped your notice Mycroft, Harry is mine, I will raise him as I see fit and you would do well to leave it." There was something very dangerous in Sherlock's voice that sharply caught Mycroft's attention.

"Surely you cannot be serious Sherlock? You raise a child, he will need care and a stable environment, which is something you lack and are unlikely to gain in the foreseeable future. Think of what is best for the boy," Mycroft said. Sherlock noticed that this entire time Mycroft had been studiously ignoring the child in Sherlock's arms. He knew Mycroft would be uncomfortable around Ylli because the man was always uncomfortable around small children.

Sherlock wasn't much better since he had very little experience with children and before Harry had no desire to be exposed to babies either. However Mycroft callous disregard for Harry was putting him on edge as he remembered a large empty manor and his brother's back as he walked away from him. Mycroft was several years his senior, he had been close to finishing secondary by the time Sherlock had been starting Primary. Sherlock had looked up to him then, would have given anything for Mycroft to just acknowledge him and spend some time with him. He had been so alone, none of the other children wanted anything to do with the weird smart kid and the older children had no time to 'nanny' him.

He had so desperately wanted Mycroft to be his friend then, because Sherlock had been sure Mycroft would understand. However, Mycroft hadn't had the time to indulge his silly little brother. Eventually Sherlock had grown to dislike his brother very much until his brother had transformed from someone he had most admired to his greatest arch enemy. Sherlock stood up and looked at Mycroft with glowing distain, "Harry is mine, Mycroft, I will be the judge of what is best for him."

Then Sherlock swept out of the café with a snap of his coat and did not look back. He hailed a cab in silent Hamlet was quiet playing with the straps of the device and seemingly understood that Sherlock needed silent for his thoughts. Mycroft was many things; the man was practically the British government now when he wasn't freelancing for MI-6 or the CIA. Mycroft was stubborn, arrogant, and entirely too sure of himself. He would do what he thought was best for Harry and for Sherlock which didn't always mean what would make them happy.

Mycroft was convinced he was unsuitable as a guardian and it was very likely he would use his considerable influence to ensure that Hamlet went to Mummy's possession. That was entirely unacceptable. They made it to the flat and Sherlock set about packing everything away. Sherrinford's things went back into the trunk Lily had sent and Sherlock's went into his own collection of suitcases/trunks. Britain was Mycroft's territory and so they would have to leave if Sherlock wanted to keep his son in his possession.

Once everything was packed Sherlock called his ride out of the country. A few years back Sherlock had managed to prove that this man's daughter was innocent of murdering her ex-lover and as a thank you the man offered his services whenever Sherlock should need him. A very accomplished pilot that owned a very comfortable Learjet and willingness to abstain from listing Sherlock on his travel logs. A very valuable asset since Mycroft had not been able to link them and thus Sherlock had been able to use the man to leave the country undetected quite a few times.

Sherlock knew getting out of the flat without being seen by Mycroft's damned CCTV camera would be a challenge but one he had managed before. It was around midnight by the time Sherlock had settled into his seat on the Learjet with Hamlet secured into the seat beside him. He didn't feel at ease until the plane had lifted off and they were well over halfway to their destination. Sherlock despised Florida, it was entirely too hot and humid, and filled with an overabundance of idiotic people on holiday. Mycroft knew how much he hated it, so they were on their way to Miami a place where Mycroft would never search for Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had sent a letter off to mummy before they had left, she would be upset of course but she would direct her ire to Mycroft since Sherlock was unavailable. Sweet revenge. The one good thing about Miami was that it had a rather high murder rate and Sherlock knew he would enjoy putting his talents to use there. Now he would just have to find a suitable liaison that was inside the police force so he could have someone alert him to the more interesting cases. That part was always a challenge since there were rarely any competent people inside the police force these days.

Amadeus turned over in his seat and reminded Sherlock that he had a child to think of also. Sherlock supposed it would be a bit harder to convince the bloody idiots to allow Sherlock to bring Hamlet along as well. People were so strange when it came to having children around dead people. Sherlock had remembered having a hell of a time when he was younger convincing the police to listen to him. It wasn't until his teens that they had even begun to be reasonable about taking his word as gospel.

His son deserved only the best education of course and Sherlock was sure he could do a better job of it than any establishment. Sherlock might have grown past allowing other's ignorance to harm him but Hamlet was still young. He had not been exposed to the venom of the ignorant people that populated this world. Sherlock was determined that his son not be held back by associating with people of smaller intellect. Besides Sherlock thought that by using independent study methods Hamlet might be able to be done with the drivel of primary and secondary education by the time he was seven. (maybe six) Allowing Sherlock to begin his son's real education sooner.

Sherlock was determined that his son would have the very best of it all and Hamlet would never have to suffer through the agony that was intellectual boredom as long as Sherlock had anything to say about it.

**A.N.: I thought I would take a moment to address some of the concerns I have been seeing in the reviews. First off I would like to remind everyone that Harry at this point is a year and a half old. That means we have a lot of things to factor in. Now as far as my research goes babies usually don't develop the ability to have solid memories until they are around two. Before that point their memories are more impressions then anything, they remember emotions, they form attachments, but no 'true memories'. **

**Now taking this into account I remembered that one of the earliest memories Harry had was of his mother begging for his life. While sad it should not have been possible for him to have the memory, only an impression of it, a great unexplainable dislike of green perhaps. Now since he shows in cannon that as a magical baby he must develop faster as he has memories nearly half a year before it is supposed to be possible that means his development is accelerated. **

**I factored this in and then used my own life experiences with a few very gifted babies as a base on what Harry is now. I am lucky enough to know a little girl, a friend's daughter that is not only very intelligent but also very cared for. This little girl was having full blown conversations with me over the phone by 20 months old. I am being completely sincere here! She would have her mom hold the phone while she talked. She would ask me about my day as easy as you please with her little Minnie mouse voice and even though I knew I was having this conversation with a baby/toddler I also knew she understood me. **

**Now there are a lot of factors to consider here, children learn frighteningly fast. If given enough attention and tutelage I have seen babies that have learned to read by the time they were two! Two! That is not only because these babies were smart, but also because they had a parent or parents that could devote some real time to teaching them. So I took into account that Lily has been in hiding with only James Potter and her son for well over a year. This means she would have little else to do but devote her time to Harry. **

**Which brings me back to my point, even in cannon it is evident that Harry is at least six months ahead of his non magical equivalents. He has had the concentrated efforts of an extremely intelligent and devoted mother. Now factor in that he is the son of **_**freaking Sherlock Holmes **_**in this story. A man who can literally tell your entire life story just by looking at you whose frightening intelligence makes him idealistically good at his job and a general ass to be around. Now, factoring all this in: Harry's accelerated development, his focused learning environment, having two (TWO) frighteningly intelligent parents, and well maybe it's not so unrealistic to think Harry can know how to read/talk/be ridiculously developed. **

**I think the movies have people picturing Harry as a tiny baby swaddled in diapers when he was closer to a mischievous toddler approaching his terrible twos with frightful velocity. I just ask that you keep this all in mind when you read this story. Harry might seem a bit ridiculous to you but not so much when you have all these things to consider. Besides, this is **_**Harry Potter**_** a story where a **_**twelve year old**_** slays a giant **_**freaking thousand year old Basilisk **_**that can kill you with a look! Is my Harry talking in full sentences and reading really so farfetched? Lol **


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